No Road Less Perilous
by lalaithien
Summary: What happened before Boromir set out for Imladris - strictly imagination! But happily 100% slash/sex-free. :)


Author's Note: This story is inspired but not dictated by the book, the Fellowship of the Ring, by J.R.R. Tolkien. I also drew inspiration from the film by Peter Jackson, so when you read my descriptions of Boromir, think in terms of Sean Bean. (That's why Boromir has clear green eyes instead of grey. And, Sean's version is much nicer than the Boromir in the books – one gets the idea Tolkien didn't like the Elder Brother much.)

I doubt there will be a narrative of Boromir's actual journey to Rivendell, as that has been very admirably done by my friend Claire, here: 

http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=551463

I instead wanted to try my hand at what happened before. So I hope you enjoy!

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Boromir caught his brother by the arm as they passed in the long corridor.

"I must speak with you, Faramir." His usually-fair face was drawn and pale, and there was a tone of weary urgency in his voice.

"Now?" Faramir asked. His older brother's impetuosity often frustrated him, and today was no exception. His father Denethor would be irate if his youngest son failed to respond to his summons. The aging Steward was irritable enough these days, without one's asking for trouble. And tardiness would be asking.

"Have you another appointment?" Boromir asked.

"Yes. Can it wait, Boromir?"

"For now," Boromir replied, though reluctantly. His thoughts were unsettled and his heart weary. He paced the hall for what seemed to him many hours, till finally Faramir returned from conference with their father.

"Now, what troubles you, my brother?" Faramir said kindly. "You know you may speak freely with me."

Boromir knew. His younger brother had always been kind and understanding to him. In fact, though Boromir despised himself for it, Faramir's goodness had often angered him. Nobility seemed to come effortlessly to him. But he was a good brother, and the best of friends.

"I have had a dream, Faramir, and it troubles me. I do not understand it."

"And you think that I will, if you cannot? I think you overestimate my talents, brother." Faramir laughed. His respect and affection for his older brother ran deep.

"Nonetheless, Faramir, will you listen?"

"Of course. But let us go somewhere private – the very walls in this place have ears."

When they were both situated in their private rooms, Boromir began to speak.

"My dream went thus: I was wandering in a great cloud of fog, seeking for I know not what. And then it seemed I saw the eastern sky grow dark, and thunder shook the canopy of heaven, but in the West there lingered a pale light. And then I heard a voice, faint and distant but quite clear, crying:

  
_'Seek for the Sword that was broken:_

_In Imladris it dwells;_

_There shall be counsels taken_

_Stronger than Morgul-spells._

_There shall be shown a token_

_That Doom is near at hand,_

_For Isildur's Bane shall waken,_

_And the Halfling forth shall stand.'_

And then I woke, in a sweat and trembling with a great fear, and my heart was heavy. Can you make aught of this, Faramir?"

Faramir thought for a moment before replying. His voice was soft and serious as he spoke. "I have dreamt the same, Boromir. The very same dream as yours. For many nights now has it troubled me."

Boromir looked at his brother, surprise evident in his clear green eyes. "But why then have you not shared it with me, my brother?"

"I had no wish to trouble you – you bear so many burdens already."

"But you should have. So you have had the same vision? Do you understand any of it? For I admit that it made little sense to me."

Faramir rubbed his jaw pensively. "Isildur was of old the King of Gondor and much of the West. Legend tells that something of great value caused his corruption and demise, but what this was I know not. Such tales have long lay sleeping in the memory of Gondor. Morgul is a name of great wickedness, for there is a tower of that name on the borders of Mordor. What Imladris and the Halfling are, I have no idea."

"Then we should ask our father. He is wise in the lore of Gondor," said Boromir.

Faramir agreed, reluctantly. He dreaded speaking with his father – everything he said seemed to displease him, and Faramir feared this subject would not sit well with his father. He was not mistaken.

"Imladris? Why should you want to know of such things?" said Denethor gruffly. 

"Because, my father, we have both heard this name in dreams. It surely must be of some importance," Boromir said earnestly. "Will you not tell us?"

Denethor sighed. He could refuse his eldest and favourite son little. "Very well," he said. "Imladris was, of old, the name among the Elves of a place far in the North, where Elrond dwelt, greatest of the lore-masters. It was said to be a place of respite for those Elves in Middle Earth, but whether it still exists, I do not know."

Faramir had listened in silence to the conversation between his brother and his father, and now felt that he must speak what had come to his mind. "I think we must heed this dream."

Denethor snorted. "Heed a dream? Go hunting for something that nobody knows, and few care, about? Send precious warriors out to find something that's likely not there? Faramir, your sense grows weak, I fear."

Boromir spoke in defence of his brother. "I feel as Faramir does, Father. The dream would not have visited us both, on the eve of disaster, had it not held some meaning and some quest."

Denethor looked in surprise at his eldest son. "Surely you have not caught your brother's madness? For that is what I would call such a chase after phantoms of things long forgotten."

"Nay, it is not madness," said Faramir resolvedly. "And I will go myself, to seek and to find this Imladris. You need spare no other men."

At that it was Boromir's turn to disagree. "Nay, brother, I cannot let you do that. The way is full of peril, of doubt, and of danger. Many have heard but few know of this place, this House of Elrond. It is my place, as your elder, to go. And it is my intent to find Imladris, or perish in the attempt."

Denethor looked stricken by his son's remark. "Nay, Boromir, my son. I forbid it. I will not allow you to throw your life away, especially not in a time of such need as this. Heroes are in scant enough supply, without their running wilfully into the arms of disaster."

"I respect you, Father, and your wishes are as commands to me. But this once I will not – cannot – heed your refusals. I shall go to Imladris, and seek the meaning of this riddle. Perhaps some help – beyond hope – may come of it." Boromir spoke firmly.

His favourite son's rejection of his prohibition clearly shocked Denethor. When he spoke again it was wearily. "Alas, then, for you have chosen a way that I fear will lead only to your destruction. If you will not heed the counsel of your father, then will you not heed the pleadings of an old man who cannot bear to see his eldest son ride eagerly to his death?"

"No, Father. I will not." The words left a bitter taste in Boromir's mouth. This Quest was his – why would his father not see that?

"Then you will go without my blessing!" Denethor shouted bitterly.

"So be it," Boromir said quietly. He could feel the anger welling up within him – it choked him, left him scant of breath. As he left the great hall, he could hear his father's angry voice.

"Out! Get out! My favourite son, my eldest son, he would disobey me, leave me helpless! It is not to be borne…" Denethor's words trailed off into a murmur, a shrunken, aged man in the Steward's chair.

********************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Faramir found his brother in the archives of Minas Tirith, sitting hunched over a large, dusty desk surrounded by equally dusty scrolls. A single torch cast a yellowish glow in the room. 

"Have you found aught of Imladris yet, Boromir?" Faramir asked, coming over to look over his brother's shoulder.

"No," Boromir said, shoving a stack of papers away with a groan, and reaching for another. "But much of the demise of Elendil. The sword of Elendil, Narsil, was broken beneath him when he fell, in the great battle of the Second Age against the armies of Mordor. Think you that this might be the Sword That Was Broken?"

"'Tis likely," Faramir said. "But it is not really about legends that I came to speak with you about, Boromir."

Boromir looked at his brother. Faramir's eyes, grey as the ocean on a stormy day, were filled with concern.

"I know what you would say, Faramir. And the answer is still no."

"But Father holds you so much dearer than me. Nay, Boromir – I know it is so. It always has been. It would break his heart – and mine – were you not to return. My loss would be felt much less."  

Boromir clasped his brother's hand. "But not by me, my brother. Now, let us waste no more time arguing. I go. You remain." 

Faramir sighed. "Take care, Boromir. Gondor would be hard-stricken by your loss."

"Then you must help me find the safest road," Boromir laughed. "Come, look through these maps with me. Surely there must be some mention of Imladris somewhere in all this dust!"

After an hour's more searching, Faramir shouted exultantly. "I have it!" His eyes glittered triumphantly as he waved a parchment map in the air.

"Very well – but do not shake it to pieces, my brother." Boromir grinned. "Let us see what we can make of it." He hastily swept the great desk clear of the other scrolls and spread the map out across its length.

Faramir rubbed his chin. "The best way, I think would be the Great West Road, which runs from here to Edoras." He traced the route with his finger. Boromir nodded – he was familiar enough with the West Road. "After Edoras, you must ford the River Snowbourn and pass through the Gap of Rohan before you meet with the Old South Road and then the Greenway."

"But the Gap of Rohan leads very near to Isengard," said Boromir, "and I am loath to travel so near to such sorcery."

Faramir shrugged. "There is not another way, that I can see."

Boromir sighed. "Very well. Then I will take the Greenway until it splits just before the Sarn Ford – here – at the Brandywine River. From there the northern road goes to Bree, and from there the Great East Road should take me to Imladris. But it is a pity there is no faster route. Why not simply go north, through the Misty Mountains?"

Faramir blanched. "The Hithaeglir are perilous. All sorts of evil and abominable creatures inhabit its wilds – some speak even of Orcs and Trolls. And to pass through the mountains, you must take the Caradhras Pass, which is treacherous at the very best of times – I have heard of few who dared attempt it."

Boromir thought for a moment. "Then I will take the long way around. It will be lonely travelling, I fear." He shook his head. "No, Faramir, you shall _not_ ride with me. One of us must stay here, to oversee the defence of the city. And since _I_ am going, how should it be that I could stay too?" He grinned and tousled his younger brother's hair.

"But I am loath to let you travel so far alone," Faramir said. "No, it is not because I think your strength and skills inadequate," he hastily added, anticipating his brother's next remark. "But your departure will weigh heavily on our father's mind – and it is troubled and weak enough already." 

"I know it, and it worries me. But can you not see that this Quest is required of me?" Boromir spoke earnestly.

"There are many things I cannot see, Boromir. But I wish you the best of -- " Faramir stopped abruptly. "There are heavy footsteps in the corridor. Armed men, I think. Boromir, I think you had better leave at once."

Boromir laughed. "Surely you do not think our father would hold me prisoner?"

Faramir did not laugh. "I would not think it too far from him, in his present state. His mind is much feebler than his body, Boromir."

"Then I will go now. Will you come with me as far as the stables?" 

Faramir nodded, and the two slipped quickly and stealthily out of the dank archives into the cool, clean air of the Gondor night.

"Farewell wherever you fare, my brother. You shall be often in my thoughts," Faramir said. There was sadness in his voice.

"And may you remain in health and happiness," Boromir replied. "I know the burden I leave you is great, Faramir – but I would not do so if I did not think you more than adequate to bear it. You are the noblest man I know."

"It shall be long till we meet again, I fear," Faramir said. "Take care. And do not lose sight of your true purpose, Boromir – there are many temptations along the path to truth."

Boromir embraced his brother. "You are the best of friends, Faramir. Whenever I need guidance, I shall think of you." He cast a quick glance back towards the Great Hall. "But time grows short, and I must leave. Farewell!"

And with that, the eldest Son of Gondor mounted his steed and rode off into the black night.


End file.
